


all they that love not boys are fools

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Blow Jobs, Elizabethan, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, References to Shakespeare, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 09:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1131103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>c. 1600, London </p><p>James and Leonard are both sons of important men but they fall in love and end up banished from Court. James mostly just wants to play Hamlet in the new Shakespeare tragedy and Leonard is happy to go along for the ride if it means being with his lover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	all they that love not boys are fools

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a supposed Christopher Marlowe quote where he, apparently, said, "all they that love not tobacco and boys are fools." 
> 
> I have no idea where this came from (tumblr and rereading Hamlet made me do it).

It's still dark when his eyes first flutter open: a November morning; a _cold_ morning. His shoulder has found its way outside the warm confines of the numerous quilts that adorn the bed and Leonard quickly shifts himself to right the transgression, nestling closer to the man strewn beside him. He smiles, watching James for any sign of wakefulness, but the young man moves not. James’ cheek is pressed into the sensitive skin of Leonard’s ribs, lips pursed as if ready to bestow a kiss. Leonard smirks, lips still soft at the edges from sleep, at the thought of what James might be dreaming.

James’ body is warm, despite the winter chill that bites the edges of the room, and Leonard, who has an arm rested over James’ waist, presses the pads of his fingers to young man’s back to chase that warmth. His fingers are cold, though, by contrast, and he laughs at the displeased murmur that erupts from James’ throat, busting into the quiet of the room, his own warmer hand tracing the lines of his own body and over Leonard’s forearm, squeezing his lover’s biceps.

“You’re _cold_ ,” James pouts, nuzzling his forehead into Leonard’s side before he exhales a long-suffering breath; Leonard lifts the covers back and smirks at James.

“Mmm,” he agrees, voice still rough from sleep, “an’ you’re so warm,” he counters, running his thigh over James’, revelling in his unamused squeal as the ice-tipped bridge of Leonard’s foot taps against James’ shinbone.

“Stop it,” James whines, tipping back his head to glare at Leonard, determinedly refusing to let his usual smile tug at his lips.

“Don’t be such an infant,” Leonard chides mildly, carding the fingers of his other hand through James’ hair: strands of spun gold; darkened in the confines of the quilt, “do you intend to stay down there?”

James presses an open-mouthed kiss to Leonard’s lowest rib, flicking his tongue out and blowing cold air over the wet stripe; Leonard flinches but chuckles at the petulant display. It’s playful; it’s James.

“I thought you liked me spending my time down here,” James whispers, nipping at Leonard’s belly, hand trailing up over his thigh, stopping painfully short of anything of _true_ interest.

“Leonard!” an impatient voice calls from the other side of the door, James’ head barely makes it above the covers before David, Leonard’s father, 1st Earl of Northumberland, steps into the room. He frowns, quickly closing the door behind him. “I see,” he says, looking from his son to his son’s lover. David is soft at heart, though, especially where his only child is concerned. He has tried his best to ignore their _relations_ , and more aptly, ignore James’ existence in his home altogether but this seems inevitable somehow: the final nail in the coffin, the confirmation of his son’s debauchery.

Leonard was always such a sweet boy, so obedient and mild. He met James in London; his father is a Duke, George Kirk, 1st Duke of Somerset, James has an older brother, Samuel, already married to a wife who bears sons like her very existence depends upon it. They have been married five years now and James has been made an uncle three times over. James is different; he will not usurp his father’s role and has little intention of entertaining life at court. He spends his time dabbling among players and poets down scrambling alleys, entertaining whores and gambling.

David sees James as a corrupting force. Although, in reality, it was Leonard who sought out James’ company, wooing him as he’d been instructed to a potential bride, and courting him as if he had asked the good Duke’s permission.

Leonard sits up and the quilts slip down from his chest, concealing his hips but not the love bites that mar his abdomen. David glances down and then shakes his head, giving James a gravelly look, designed to cut, before sighing.

“You’re wanted at Court,” David explains, refusing to give their guest any more attention, “Lord Essex wishes to introduce his daughter to you.”

“I have no desire, nor intention, to marry Miss Chapel,” Leonard huffs, curling his fingers around James’ wrist, though it is obscured by the coverlet, the movement is not hidden and does not go unnoticed, it catches David’s attention and he scowls.

“You cannot _act_ like this,” he states, desperately imploring his son to see reason, “and whether you would marry her or not you have been _summoned_ to Court and that is where you will go.”

“When will I depart?” Leonard wonders, idly playing with the corner of the sheet beneath them.

“After breakfast,” David says resolutely, “now get up and get dressed, and be mindful of your mother,” he warns, “she is already weak of heart, this should turn her hysterical,” he continues, “I worry, sending you both back to London, remember that your actions reflect on our name, Leo, the McCoy name. It was once important to you.”

Leonard drops his gaze, a flare of shame sparking up in him. David may be a gentle man, rarely raising his voice, or his hand, but he is the only man, besides James, that has enough skill of rhetoric to make Leonard feel embarrassed by his actions and guilty for his feelings. David’s words will fade though, Leonard hopes, and he will be inclined to think on them less when they’re at Court. When it becomes clear Leonard will not be deigning his father with an answer David opens the bedroom door once more.

“Sodomy is illegal,” he mutters, hardly able to utter the word sodomy in his own house, “remember that too, especially when you get to Court.”

He frowns once more before closing the door behind him. Leaving the two men alone in the bed together, they’re both warmer now, the sun has risen and the slither of a crescent moon can no longer be seen among the orange dawn; Jim’s hair looks beautiful in the sunlight, opulent, like the rest of his body. Leonard lets his head roll back against the bedstead, puffing out a breath. James offers him a rueful glance before settling his head on Leonard’s chest and wrapping an arm around his middle.

“We’d better get up,” he whispers, pulling back again, kissing Leonard’s nose, “if I lie here much longer, pressed up against you like this, I might get ideas.”

“That’s not much of an argument for getting me _out_ of bed,” Leonard chuckles, kissing the crown of James’ head, “perhaps we should-”

“Leonard!” his mother voice is shrill, distant enough to suggest she is making her way up the stairs. James pulls Leonard up out of the bed, pushing him towards his dressing table while James slips into the closet off to the side of the main bedroom. Leonard catches his wrist before James makes it into the room, brushing his lips against the side of James’ mouth, the younger man smiles, pulling back before deciding better of it and pressing his lips to Leonard’s more fully.

“In,” Leonard whispers, shooing him towards the door, closing it just as his mother knocks at the door of the bedroom.

“Are you decent child?” She asks, entering the room even though Leonard is decidedly not decent, he quickly pulls on a linen undershirt that is long enough to cover him, and she laughs as she enters, light and easy. He stands awkwardly under her gaze, as if he were four, not twenty-four, but she seems oblivious to his mortification, the blush on his throat remaining ignored.

“James was not in his chamber,” Eleanor says gently, “have you seen him?”

“Wandering,” Leonard says, “he’s oft known to do so of a morning; he’s probably hiding himself in the courtyard.”

“Don’t dally,” she chides lightly, handing him his breeches, “you need to eat before you leave.”

“Yes,” he nods, smiling, “I’ll be down soon.”

Eleanor recedes from the room and James exits the closet, he’s still naked and the spark of lust is reignited low in Leonard’s belly.

“You’ll never get dressed if you stand their gawping at me,” James smirks, snatching his shirt off the back of one of the chairs to the side of the room. Leonard abandons the dressing table, padding around the bed towards James, pushing him down into the chair, kneeling in between his spread legs, his shoulders keeping James’ thighs apart.

“But you’re such a sight, Jim,” Leonard whispers, running his hands over James’ bare thighs.

“Leonard!”

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Leonard huffs, pulling away from James and throwing a length of drapery over his crotch.

“Don’t blaspheme,” James jibes lightly, sitting up straight, crossing his legs; he looks delicate, dainty even, an appearance only enhanced by the slenderness of his legs, the petite form of his ankles.

“I’m _coming_ ,” Leonard calls back, and his father’s footsteps continue on down the hallway, “put some clothes on,” he grumps at his lover, pouting.

“You look so pretty when you sulk,” James teases, letting the drapery fall away as he steps up to the dresser, Leonard has to refrain from pressing his body to the back of James’, slipping into his breeches instead and continuing, begrudgingly, with the rest of his clothes, watching James do the same on the other side of the room.

“You always look pretty,” Leonard murmurs, “I don’t want to go back to Court,” he admits, frowning, “things are complicated at Court.”

“I can’t imagine my father will be happy to see me,” James shrugs, “after the debacle with Lady Rand.”

“Refusing her like that was rather mean,” Leonard agrees.

“Janice understands,” James says confidently, “she’ll marry Pembroke now; it’s a much better match.”

Leonard nods, stepping closer to James, hooking his index and middle fingers under James’ chin, bringing their lips together. The kiss is sumptuous, lips only slightly parted on both accounts, but lingering.

“I think your father had a different idea of breakfast,” James whispers, nipping at Leonard’s jaw, cupping the bulge hardening between Leonard’s legs.

“You reprobate,” Leonard smirks, kissing Jim’s forehead, “come on, before someone else calls for me.”

 #

It takes them three days to ride to London, stopping at a small tavern in York where no one bats an eyelid when Leonard pays for a single room, and again at Cambridge where Leonard recounts his university days, as if they were decades ago. He attended Cambridge for Medicine, even though men of their standing usually studied Liberal arts or theology. James preferred the look of the Arts at Oxford, where he could study poetics, history and rhetoric, but he didn’t want to be tied down to four years of study in a small town when he could be blazing across the stages of theatre houses on the outskirts of London.

Outskirts which, when they reach them, greet James and Leonard like an old familiar face. This is where they met, this is their city. Everything about London, with exception to the confines of Court, warmly envelopes them, despite the November chill.

Samuel greets them in the entry chamber, throwing contemptuous and suspicious glances at his brother’s companion. Luckily Leonard has an excuse for his eager departure, bidding the two Kirk boys well before going in search of Lord Essex in the base court. Samuel’s grip is quick and vice like around James’ upper arm, pulling him into an alcove, voice low but harsh.

“You’re a disgrace,” he hisses, “joining McCoy in court like some hapless mistress,” he continues, pulling James back behind a length of tapestry, “you haven’t heard the whispers, Jim, it’s- it’s worse for you, being younger than McCoy, Pembroke called you a _catamite_.”

“Good news travels fast,” James smirks, rolling his eyes, “you worry too much.”

“This isn’t a joke, this isn’t harmless folly, this is a scandal, James, father’s-”

“Very disappointed,” another voice interrupts, and the two young men turn to look, wide-eyed at their father. James opens his mouth to speak but thinks better of it, waits, instead, to be addressed.

“At least I did not bring a liar into this world,” George begins, “although your other transgressions are no doubt damning enough.”

“Father,” James greets tightly, exhaling a levelled breath.

“To let yourself be put into this position, and by the son of an _Earl_ , no less, letting yourself be _taken_ in such a manner,” he continues, voice deep with disgust and disappointment, “it’s not right.”

A group of pretty young ladies pass, and the three men stand up straight, nodding courteously.

“Ladies,” Jim smiles: playful and bright.

“Behave yourself,” George scolds, walking his two sons into another recess of the corridor, a privy room, pointedly closing the door behind him. “You’ll end your attachment to the McCoy lad, and you’ll do it today,” George instructs, “I won’t have you spoke of as a sodomite, not even in rumour; you will not leave yourself vulnerable like that.”

“The Queen doesn’t seem to mind too much,” James counters, barely able to keep the sneer from his face, “half of her favourites take male lovers.”

“Watch your tongue,” George snaps, “you do not need to add treason to your list of offences,” he hisses.

“Well, it’s ridiculous,” James states.

“You’re young,” George says lightly, “you can rise from this, shed it like an outer skin, but you need to cut ties with McCoy.”

“No,” James replies simply, and Samuel’s head snaps up at his younger brother’s defiance, his _disobedience_ , such arrogance in the face of their father.

“No?” George repeats.

“Father,” James begins softly, “I don’t mean to be, well, it is not my intention to deliberate contravene your wishes, but I am _most_ fond of Bones-”

“Bones?” George demands.

“He’s a physician, you know? With certification from Cambridge,” James explains, “but sawbones is too long.”

“For what?” Samuel wonders, quirking an eyebrow.

“Moaning,” James chuckles, earning an unamused frown from his father, while Samuel chokes on the shock of his little brother’s words.

“You’re a harlot,” George snaps, “and I want you gone from Court until you can act with the propriety your class sanctions.”

“I am not here in your company; I’m here alongside Bones and until he exiles me from his companionship then Court is where I’ll remain,” James huffs.

“You are my _son_ ,” George grits out, “much as I am pained to say it, and if I have to get Her Majesty’s decree then I will. Although explaining your actions may see you on the Scaffold before it sees you back in Somerset".

“You only have the means to banish me from Court, not from London” James says sullenly, “I’ll take refuge Bankside.”

George snorts, “ah, yes,” he rolls his eyes, “fleeing to the stage,” he shakes his head, “I have heard your good man Shakespeare has penned another glory.”

“I hope to read for him,” James nods, “Hamlet, I believe it’s called, Burbage will no doubt want the role, but I am prettier than he is, perhaps I can endear myself to Bill’s… _baser_ desires.”

“Perhaps he will cast you as the lover,” Samuel sneers, “the good Sir Hamlet will no doubt have a young lady on his arm.”

“No,” James shakes his head, “my boyhood days are behind me, I never did find the appeal in dresses.”

“Go,” George says slowly, “get _out_.”

“Yes, father.”

 #

Leonard goes in search of Jim soon after he’s finished with Essex; Christine is a nice young girl, pretty and not as docile as many of the young women tend to be, especially at Court. He would like to befriend her, but that will only lead to complications, to spend more time with her he will need to have some intentions of courting her, as he has no such intentions persuading her father into letting her take refuge in his company will be futile. He sighs.

James is in a quiet corner of the gallery, reclined on a chair reading something, the leather bound book looks almost new, but it’s unfamiliar to Leonard.

“What are you reading?”

“The Passionate Pilgrim,” James replies, looking up at Leonard appraisingly.

“Poetry,” Leonard reads from the insert page that James holds up for his attention, “Shakespeare.”

“Not only, it’s a collection, listen to this,” he instructs, “there will I make thee a bed of roses, with a thousand fragrant posies, a cap of flowers, and a kirtle embroidered all with leaves of myrtle,” he recites, “it’s Marlowe,” he explains and Leonard nods obligingly, “but the editor, this Jaggard chap has added on an answering verse of Sir Raleigh’s: these pretty pleasures might me move, to live with thee and be thy love. It’s quaint, isn’t it?” James smiles.

“It’s wonderful, Jim,” Leonard says, sitting down beside him.

“My father has asked me to leave Court,” James admits ruefully, “I’m ruining his reputation, apparently, did Essex suggest to you that our, our _love affair_ ,” he whispers coyly, smirking, “is common knowledge?”

“No,” Leonard shakes his head, “but people would have little reason to say anything to Essex, your father’s a Duke, others are likely just attempting to bait him.”

“I’m going to Southwark,” James sighs, “back to the Lord Chamberlain’s men.”

“To act?” Leonard rolls his eyes.

“Don’t give me that look,” James pouts, “I can be a player if I want to.”

“Well, you’ll do it regardless of what I damn well think,” Leonard huffs.

“You curse too much,” James smirks, placing a hand on Leonard’s thigh, “we could rent a room together,” James suggests, “if you’re finished with the Chapels.”

“You remember the first time I met you?” Leonard wonders, “The Curtain Theatre.”

“Shoreditch,” James nods.

“Sitting on the lap of a madam with rouge on your cheeks and kohl lining your eyes,” Leonard shakes his head, smirking at the memory, “to my defence, and on my life, you looked older than sixteen.”

“And you were blushing so hard, I just assumed you weren’t yet twenty,” James jibes.

“Hush, you,” Leonard scoffs, watching as James’ hand slides higher up his leg.

“And then I saw you in the chapel the following Sunday, standing beside your father and of _course_ I realised who you were,” Leonard continues, “such a deviant, even when you were still only learning Latin and not manipulating people with it.”

“Me?” James says, feigning incredulity, “I’ve never manipulated anyone in all my life,” he continues earnestly.

“You’re right,” Leonard says, kissing Jim’s cheek but it remains civil enough that it only hints at friendship, without intimacy, “you will make a good actor.”

“Not my only talent,” James continues, batting his eyelashes.

“No,” Leonard agrees, “perhaps you can demonstrate your varied talents once I’m released from Court.”

“You mean you can’t leave tonight?”

“No, even though I doubt I have any other business with Essex they wish me to remain here in my father’s stead for the rest of the week, until he arrives,” Leonard explains, squeezing his thighs together to entrap James’ fingers.

“Tease,” James smiles, “I won’t last a week without you.”

“You’ve lasted longer,” Leonard counters gently.

“Walk me to the bank?” James requests, and, of course, with those blue eyes like Sapphire Leonard is powerless to refuse. They walk from Whitehall Palace, through Westminster, until James is safely on a ferry.

“I’ll write to you if I’m to be delayed,” Leonard promises, handing the ferryman an extra silver piece, “I’ll address it to the Globe.”

“Let’s hope I’m there to intercept it then,” James smirks, “don’t keep me waiting too long.”

 

 #

_James,_

_I hope this letter finds you well; I penned it as soon as I had something worth writing. And, no, Jim, exalting your beauty isn’t letter-worthy, at least not how I’d do it. But don’t let those poet-types seduce you, no matter what blue jewels they compare your eyes to. I’ve read their blazons; I know how they can be._

_In terms of my release, I’ll be here another week or so yet. My father and Chapel have become fast friends, and it appears Chapel has taken to me like the son-in-law he intends of me.  Your father, as you might imagine, throws him murderous looks whenever he can do so without seeming uncivil. Though, as my father is so quick to remind everyone, we are merely Earls and know nothing of Dukedom – Chapel fears this to be the reason your father scorns him._

_Otherwise, Court is fiercely dull, as is expected without you to keep my attentions. I should be with you before a reply would be with me, so there’s no need to write, I merely wished to express my fondness, and my regret that you’re frolicking freely around Southwark without a companion._

_Think of me,_

_Bones_

_Palace of Whitehall  
_ _Westminster  
_ _London_

_#_

James huffs in frustration, rereading the letter again. He’s been staying in a room above a tavern and he’s been alone and deprived for a week. He dismisses the envoy who has been sent in this direction from the playhouse, flicking him a farthing for his troubles and he mopes.

He’d visit a the stews and take a lady back to the empty room if he was so inclined; but no, he’s moody and Leonard’s absence has made him love sick. A feverish Jim Kirk is certainly in no fit state to entertain guests. It _has_ given him fervour, though, to pursue a role in the new Shakespeare tragedy.

James huffs again, pulling his cloak on and sticking his head out of the window. He waits for a moment, assessing the mob of people making their way through the street; he catches sight of who he’s looking for: a young boy; curly hair; bright smile.

“Pasha,” he calls out, and the doe eyed child looks up. His mother is a poor young woman that keeps the beds of actors warm when on nights like the ones of late when the winter chill makes them lonelier than usual, his father was supposedly the son of a Russian Ambassador that bedded her when she was practically a child herself and then left again when his father’s business in England came to a close.

“Mister Jim?” he questions.

“Sit on the step and wait for me, I have an errand for you,” James explains.

“Yes sir,” the boy nods eagerly, curls bouncing as they are wont to do.

Jim pens the letter quickly, and takes to the stairs, navigating his way around the bar, swerving to elude the notice of a few drunks before he sets his eyes on the child that awaits his instruction.

“You know Whitehall?”

“The Palace?” he grins.

“Yes,” James nods, “can you get there if I give you money for the ferry?”

Pasha nods, and then something occurs to him, “why?” he wonders.

“I need you to deliver a letter,” he explains, “you’ll get two shillings if you make it back to me tonight.”

“Will someone meet me at the gate?” he wonders.

“No,” James shakes his head, “you’ll need to get the attention of someone in the gallery,” he explains, “but you must go with the letter, all the way.”

“Who will I be taking it to?” Pasha asks.

“To Northumberland’s son, his name is Leonard McCoy, you’re to announce to whomever asks that Lord James, Somerset’s son gave you the letter,” James continues.

“Somerset to Northumberland, sons on both counts,” the ten year old recites, “Lord James to Lord Leonard,” he continues.

“Good lad,” James nod, “here’s enough for the ferry, and a bun if you get hungry, see me again for the rest.”

“Yes sir,” Pasha nods, taking the coins from James’ outstretched hand and slipping them into the inside pocket of his own cloak.

 #

Leonard is sat at a dining table, his father on one side, Christine on the other and Lord Essex and his wife opposite them. The two fathers are discussing the merits of playing cards while Christine’s mother explains in great, and rather humiliating, detail why the youngest Chapel girl would make a good wife. Her curves are a continual point of reference: child-bearing hips; milk-heavy breasts. The thought of Chapel’s sixteen year old body is enough to turn him from his food; he lays a comforting hand over the young lady’s wrist, sharing the look of a child horrified by their affections of their mother – he knows it only too well. He can only imagine what Eleanor would be like if she were here now.

“Excuse me,” Leonard turns to see a child stood behind his chair, “are you Northumberland’s son?”

Leonard frowns, amused by the child’s inadequate address and tattered cloak but confused by the nature of the question.

“How have you managed to get in here?” Essex demands.

“Wait a minute, my Lord,” Leonard says softly, holding his hand up in the direction of the elder Chapel.

“Leonard,” the child says.

“Yes,” Leonard nods, “who wishes to know.”

“Jim,” he says and then scrunches up his face, “Somerset’s son.”

Leonard smiles, thinks he might understand what James’ ploy is, bites his lip to hide the smirk that threatens to burst in the face of his father’s frown.

“And he has a message?” Leonard wonders, hoping it’s nothing too risqué to be recited aloud.

“No, a letter,” the child corrects, pulling it from his pocket. Leonard is comforted by the sight of his initials in James’ elaborate script, “he said I was to give it to you personally, that I should find someone at the gallery to lead me to you, but no one would take note a’ me and then I heard a man say he was dining with Northumberland, so I followed him,” the boy explains, pointing to a man who’s just entered the dining hall.

“I’ll walk you out,” Leonard says, “I suppose you want a shilling for your trouble?”

“Jim said he’d give me two upon my return,” the boy counters.

“May I have the letter then?” Leonard says, holding his hand out.

“Here y’are,” he nods.

 #

_Bones,_

_I’ve taken up with Bill Shakespeare; I’m needy and in want of a lover and you know I hate to be kept waiting._

_Haven’t really, I do miss you though, and if Bill asked me to bed him for a role I would, but he hasn’t as of yet. Richard’s been taken ill with a fever, won’t be able to read his lines, which has given me my opportunity._ _Leo, mon cher, I pen this letter as the new Hamlet, isn’t that exciting? I want to make love to you on the stage, and I want to do it soon, imagine the moonlight streaming in, we’d have a fur quilt to stave off the cold. I feel like I could rule London, but I want to do it with you here._

_Leave Court, your father will never support us and Essex will only try and claw his way in deeper. I want you back with me, I miss you._

_Your darling, James_

_#_

Leonard finds that his heart is racing, as if he can hear the delicate resonance of James’ voice in his ear, his breath against Leonard’s ear, his lips against Leonard’s throat.

“I must excuse myself from Court,” Leonard says, standing up from the table.

“Sit down,” David orders tightly.

“A close companion of mine has had some ill news,” Leonard lies, smiling from Christine to her father, “I need to help him set his affairs in order; you’ll forgive me, my Lord Essex, if I leave tonight.”

“Please, my dear boy,” Essex says with an answering grin, “you’re a loyal friend, tend to your business, your invitation to Court is open as always.”

“You’re too kind,” Leonard says, bending again to kiss Christine’s hand, extending a genteel nod to her mother, “I’ll write you, father.”

“If you leave,” David begins, standing, “I wish to know nothing more of you.”

“Then goodbye,” Leonard says softly, “perhaps you will think differently one day.”

“Is he really in trouble?” David whispers.

“No,” Leonard shakes his head, “it’s surprising to know you care.”

“I don’t,” David huffs, resolve faltering, he’s always been a soft man, a compassionate man, “will you be returning?”

“Not unless his father calls him back to Court,” Leonard admits, “I am sorry.”

“Means very little to me now, son,” David sighs, “I would see you in Northumberland, when the scandal of your renegade dies down.”

 “Jim didn’t pen an address,” Leonard says regretfully, “I’ll send you word at Christmas.”

“You love the boy?” David realises, disappointed, but less so than before. And maybe, in that moment, Leonard and his father share something intimate, because Leonard has a matching realisation. 

“I do.”

#

He walks the child back to the port, boards a ferry and returns to James, who isn’t as surprised as Leonard might have hoped at his arrival.

“I think you’ve earned yourself a third shilling, Master Pasha,” is all James says, extending his arm to Leonard. Leonard scoffs, rolling his eyes a little.

“I have _missed_ you,” he says, threading his arm through his lover’s.

“Even as the sun with purple-coloured face,” James begins to recite, “had taken his last leave of the weeping morn’, rose-cheeked Adonis hied him to the chase.”

“Am I Adonis then?” Leonard smirks, “dear Venus,” he whispers, kissing Jim’s temple.

“Must be,” James nods, paying Pasha and leading Leonard off in the direction of their board, “will you let the Goddess of love seduce you?”

“You’ll do just fine, Jim,” Leonard smirks, “you know I have no taste for Goddesses.”

“No, but, luckily enough, I’m similarly inclined,” James whispers, “shall I show you?”

“Oh, please,” Leonard nods, “lead on, my darling.”

 #

Sinking back into the tight heat of James’ body is better than any feast to a starving man, any lake to any who finds themselves dying of thirst. They rut like animals, scratching and biting; James’ nails digging shapes into Leonard’s back, Leonard being forced to pin James’ wrists to the bed before too much blood is drawn.

They spend an inordinate amount of time in bed, sheets wrapped around them, wrapped around each other. Leonard lets James read lines to him and in turn, when the young actor needs to know whether or not he will be able to recite them under pressure, Leonard devises a plan to provide mind-addling distractions that James must overcome. Most of these distractions involve Leonard’s mouth and some sensitive part of James’ anatomy.

Leonard is licking a stripe up the underside of James’ cock when he delivers the lines, “to be, or not to be: that is the question: Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer. The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” he shudders out a breath, “Bones I don’t think Bill will have his tongue wrapped around my bollocks during this scene.”

“I hope not,” Leonard smirks, pulling away and grinning up at James, spitefully darting his tongue along James’ slit.

“Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them? To die: to sleep-” James pauses; looking down the length of his body, in between his spread thighs, “why have you stopped?”

“You have to do the whole speech, all the way through, Hamlet, no stopping,” Leonard encourages, "and when you do stop, so will I."

“Aye, there’s the rub,” James laughs, throwing his head back on the pillow.

 #

After watching James’ first performance of Hamlet, Leonard takes to calling him “sweet Prince,” which, admittedly, he does for the sight of James’ coy blush rather than anything else, but William seems to think they’re rather charming for it.

“You’ll look after my boy?” William questions, slapping Leonard’s shoulder, “I need him in top condition for the rerun of Romeo and Juliet, and I’m penning him a part in a new play, Twelfth Night, I think I’ll call it.”

“Don’t work him too hard,” Leonard grins.

“Some men are born great,” William says, “he’s really rather wonderful.”

“That he is,” Leonard says, eyeing William pointedly.

“Don’t worry, I have my own fair youth, Leo,” he murmurs with a wink before padding over to a group of actors by the bar. James soon fills the space the playwright has abandoned and hands Leonard a tankard.

“You’re staring,” James says, fluttering his eyelashes at Leonard, “see something you like, my Lord?”

“Shh,” Leonard says, leaning forward to kiss James’ cheek, “I always see something I like when I gaze upon thee,” he sighs, “but looking still on her, I stand amazed, at wondrous sight of so celestial hue.”

“Ooh,” James grins, impressed, “Ed Spencer?”

“ _Sovereign_ Beauty,” Leonard says pointedly, nodding, “my dear Duke.”

“ _Please_ ,” James chuckles, “I’m just an actor.”

“And I? The player’s mate?”

“If you would have me,” James nods.

“I would.” 

            


End file.
